Bring Him Home
by craftyjhawk
Summary: Booth has been wrongly accused, but Brennan is determined to bring her husband home.
1. Chapter 1

Lost in thought, jostled by passersby, Temperance Brennan stood outside the Hoover Building trying to determine her next course of action. Under normal situations, she could think at least five moves ahead. However, normal situations did not include being dragged from her husband's hospital room, forcibly taken to FBI headquarters, questioned for hours before being released and being warned to stay away from her husband or face arrest. Her arrest was something she could not allow to happen. Christine needed at least one of her parents with her and the agents questioning Brennan had made it clear that Booth would not be returning home upon his release from the hospital.

Home. She didn't know whether to laugh or cry at the thought. She had no home to return to and probably wouldn't want to in any case. The house that Booth had worked so hard to repair and prepare for them had been all but destroyed. That was just the structure. The home, the life they had made there, the sense of safety and belonging, had also been destroyed the instant those men fired the first shot. She had found something in that house that she had lost at the age of fifteen and now wondered if it could ever be recovered.

She remained locked in place, on her tiny square of sidewalk, ignoring the bumps and complaints that she was blocking traffic, until she felt a hand on her shoulder, followed by a gentle shake. Her train of thought lost, she turned to tell the person who had invaded her personal space to back the hell off and found herself looking in the startling blue eyes that could only belong to her father. Without a word, he held his arms out to her. And without a word, she fell into them, silently sobbing, shoulders shaking, all illusion of control lost.

"Sweets called me," he whispered in her ear. "Christine is with Angela, excited to have a playdate with Michael. Caroline arranged for me to go in the house, with supervision, of course. I've packed bags for you and Christine. You're coming home with me. No arguments."

Pulling away from her father's arms was difficult, but she managed it. Swiping her hands across her face to erase the remnants of her tears, she nodded and allowed herself to be led to his car. Max respect her need for space and drove in silence instead of bombarding her with questions as her normally would.

Arriving at the condo that she had bought for him years earlier, she unpacked, showered and slept, promising herself that when she awoke, she would start planning, making the necessary decisions regarding what would come next.

* * *

><p>During the day, Brennan occupied herself with whatever case presented itself on her table. While she would always perform her job to the best of her abilities, during this time there was always a part of her brain mulling over the facts of Booth's case. She knew there had to be a way to prove the existence of a mole within the FBI, to prove that Booth had not been the attacker, but the one attacked that night.<p>

As soon as medically possible, Booth had been released from the hospital and taken into federal custody. Charged with the murders of three federal agents, he was in as much danger from the guards as he was from the prisoners, some of whom he was responsible for putting in prison in the first place. Knowing the danger he faced, only pushed Brennan even harder to find a way to end the insanity that had become their lives.

Pausing in her work to check the clock, she saw that she needed to leave if she was going to arrive at the prison to see Booth on time. Replacing the femur she had been examining on the table, she turned and walked determinedly toward her office, pulling her gloves off with a snap as she walked. Gloves tossed in the trash, messenger bag scooped up from the floor, she left her office almost as soon as she had entered it. She walked out of the lab and toward her car in the parking deck without a word to her coworkers, who, after a month of this routine, knew where she was going.

Upon her arrival at the prison, she flipped down the visor to check her appearance. Satisfied that the she had sufficiently camouflaged the dark circles under her eyes, she grabbed her messenger bag, squared her shoulders and headed for the highlight of her day, a visit with her husband.

* * *

><p>If seeing her husband was the highlight of her day, then having to see him taken away at the end of their visits was the low point. Returning to her car, she collapsed in the driver's seat as she did at the end of every visit. The positivity that she forced, the light conversation that she maintained took so much out of her. She detested being phony with Booth, but he had enough to deal with without her adding to it. So, she planned their visits, their conversations, staying on safe topics. This time she told him about the house she had made an offer on. After describing the floor plan, the light, airy feel provided by the openness and windows, she realized he wasn't listening, only nodding occasionally, as if interested. She let her words fade out mid-sentence, finally taking in the faraway look in his eyes. The rest of their visit passed in silence as they were both unable to maintain the facades they had worked so hard to construct.<p>

Ten, fifteen, twenty minutes passed until she was ready to face the rest of her day. Turning her cell phone back on, she listened to the message her real estate agent had left – her offer on the house had been accepted, closing would be expedited and she could take possession in two weeks. She breathed a sigh of relief. In light of everything that was wrong in their lives, this seemed like a minor victory, but she would take it all the same. She and Christine would be able to move out of her father's condo. She was truly grateful for everything he had done, but she needed her own space. Christine needed her routine back. Booth needed a place to come home to, because he would be coming home. No matter how long it took, she would clear him of all charges. He would return to his 'girls.'

* * *

><p>She had driven to the condo on autopilot. Removing the key from the car's ignition, she smiled in anticipation of the other highlight of her day – dinner with her daughter. Christine's laughter was infectious and just what Brennan needed after a long day of just getting through, just surviving, just counting the minutes until they were whole again.<p>

Christine was, as always, full of questions about her father. Brennan answered as best as she could, protecting the little girl from the worst details of Booth's prison life. Christine's face fell as she was once again told she couldn't visit her father. Brennan had pleaded with Booth to allow her to bring Christine for a visit, but he had refused. She understood his reasoning. He would never want Christine to see him in prison orange, or with the bruises and cuts that seemed to be a constant in his life. What Booth didn't understand was how difficult the separation was for their daughter. She missed her father and no explanation could ever fully explain his absence. As tempting as it was to defy Booth and take Christine along one day, she respected his wishes and watched her daughter's heart break a little each time she was told no or each time the door opened and Daddy didn't walk through it.

* * *

><p>The nights were the worst. Christine went to bed early, as did Max. It was then that she was left alone with her thoughts, when she missed Booth the most, when her distractions were gone. She would try to read or review the research for her next journal submission. She had even tried to outline and begin writing an idea she had for a new novel. Instead of inhabiting their own world, Andy and Kathy seemed to be inhabiting her world, taking on the roles of Brennan and Booth in happier times, reminding her of everything she had lost. After the third attempt, she considered it a lost cause and deleted the file.<p>

Eventually, she would go to bed, even though sleep was as much of a losing battle as distraction was. Perhaps it was because the bed she slept in wasn't theirs. The pillows and sheets did not carry his scent. His clothes were not in the drawers alongside hers. Nothing reminded in the room reminded her of him and maybe, just maybe, that absence is what screamed at her every night, kept her from sleeping, made her miss him even more.

This night, just like every other night during this nightmare, her body eventually gave way to exhaustion and she slept. Every morning, after what seemed like only minutes, the alarm would go off and she would begin the cycle again. Every morning, she awoke more determined than the day before to find the evidence that would free Booth and bring him home.

* * *

><p><em>AN - My original plan was for this story to be a one-shot. Now, I think it will be a two-, possibly three-shot. Please let me know what you think of it in that little box below. Thanks for reading! ~ craftyjhawk_


	2. Chapter 2

Two weeks later, on a cloudless, hot summer day, Brennan and Christine moved into their new home with a lot of help from their friends. While Angela, with Christine's input, painted a mural on the girl's wall, Brennan directed the placement of furniture throughout the rest of the house. Decorating would come later, in the darkness of night, after Christine had gone to bed, during the hours when sleep wouldn't come until exhaustion overtook her.

"Mommy! Mommy! Come see what Aunt Angela is doing!" Christine ran into the living, grabbed her mother's hand and dragged her down the hall.

"Okay, okay, I'm coming. Have you been helping her?" Her daughter's blonde head bobbed up and down as she nodded. "Then, I'm sure it's beautiful. Let's go look at it."

Hours later, after furniture had been arranged, boxes unpacked, after the remnants from their impromptu take-out dinner had been cleaned up, after Christine had been tucked into her new bed and read to, Brennan finally relaxed. Sitting on the new couch, with a glass of wine in one hand, she looked at the bare walls of their new living room and decided that she would begin to sort through the boxes of her artifacts and Booth's collectibles that she had salvaged from their old house on the following day. She wanted their new house to feel like home to Booth from the moment he walked through the door.

She finished the last of her wine as she passed through the kitchen on the way to her bedroom. She sat the glass on the counter and continued on her way through the house, pausing at Christine's open door to watch her daughter sleep for a few moments. Smiling at the peaceful expression on Christine's face, Brennan walked toward her room, stopping just before entering. Faced with the reality of spending the first night in their new home, in their new bed without her husband, she found she couldn't do it. She turned away, pausing at the linen closet to grab a blanket, she returned to the living room, stretched out on the couch and drifted off to sleep.

* * *

><p>Brennan awoke the following morning to Christine's hand stroking her cheek.<p>

"Morning, Mommy. It's time to get up."

Brennan slowly opened her eyes and found herself looking at her daughter's smiling face, just a few inches from her own. Christine smiled at her mother and decided that her mission was accomplished. With a quick peck on Brennan's cheek, Christine turned and ran back to her room to pick her clothes for the day.

Brennan pushed herself up slowly, stiff from sleeping on the couch and rubbed her face, trying to shake off the remnants of sleep. She stood up, stretching out the last of her kinks and folded the blanket before heading to the kitchen to make Christine's breakfast. By the time Christine returned to the kitchen, her blueberry buckwheat pancakes were ready and waiting for her to dig in. Brennan sat across the table from her daughter, pushing some fruit around in a bowl, listening to the girl chattering about her room, her bed, the new house in general. When Christine mentioned that she couldn't wait to show all of it to her father, Brennan almost broke. Unwilling to upset Christine, she held herself together, redirecting Christine's attention to her upcoming playdate with Michael Vincent.

Brennan's thoughts turned inward while Christine talked about all of the things she wanted to do with Michael when he came over that afternoon. She had thought that leaving Max's condo and getting them back into a routine would make things easier. In fact, it was just the opposite. At her father's home, she missed Booth, but it was different. That wasn't 'their' house, Booth didn't really have his own place there anymore than she did. She and Booth should be making this new house their home, together. Even though he had never stepped foot in the house, she saw him everywhere she looked. She could see him cooking in the kitchen, flopped on the couch watching one of his sporting events, lounging on their bed and waiting for her to join him. It was all so painful and yet it was what she needed to move forward.

By the time Christine had finished her breakfast and skipped back to her room, Brennan had devised a plan to get her husband home. Since it was a Sunday, she couldn't act on her plans, so she put her energy into unpacking and decorating. Seeing her artifacts displayed alongside Booth's collectibles helped, gave her hope. If she could put this part of her life back together, surely she could do the same with the rest of it.

That night, after Michael had gone home, after she had finished unpacking, after Christine was tucked snugly into her bed, Brennan went to the linen closet, grabbed a blanket and went to sleep on the couch again.

* * *

><p>Brennan pushed the team harder than she had before. She was determined to find something, anything, the one thing that would free Booth. She continued to work on the cases brought to the Jeffersonian by the FBI. She would never let her work suffer because of her obsession to free Booth. She had been informed by all of her friends that she was obsessed. They all wanted to see Booth freed, but where they would see an obstacle and pause to determine the next course of action, Brennan would push through, hurdle over it, swing across, dragging everyone else along with her.<p>

She knew it was probably unfair, but she put the most pressure on Angela. All of the evidence they had was digital, retrieved from the flash drive they discovered on the body of Wesley Foster. That left it to Angela to sort through and analyze and find what they needed. Angela, being the friend that she was, worked endlessly, coming at it from any new angle she could think of. To her great frustration, she kept coming up empty. They had the names of so many politicians, judges and federal officials who were involved in one way or another, either as a blackmailer or as a victim, but no way to tie the entire operation together. They only knew that it was widespread and had a very long history. So, Angela continued to dig and analyze, hoping that the next discovery would be the one to blow the whole thing wide open.

* * *

><p>Weeks passed without finding a way to get Booth released. Not a legal way, in any case. But, when a certain federal prosecutor's name popped up on Angela's screen, Brennan's brain went into overdrive, considering how she could most effectively use the information.<p>

Booth had sensed his wife's growing frustration during their visits. He was so attuned to her, he knew when the frustration had changed to determination. After much wheedling on his part, he finally managed to get her to admit she had a plan. A little more prodding and she was spilling the details. At first, he could only look at her in shock. Blackmail? A federal prosecutor? Then, the words came pouring out. She could not do that. She would be opening herself up to jail time. She had to think of Christine. What would she do if her mother were in jail right along with her father? Brennan took every reasonable argument he made and dismissed them. It wasn't long before the anger poured out of him. He forbade her. She could not put herself in jeopardy for his sake. They would find another way to free him.

All too soon, their time was up and the guard was leading him back to his cell. It wasn't until he sat on his bunk, catching his breath, that he realized that she hadn't agree to his demand. With a groan, he dropped his head into his hands, knowing once Temperance Brennan had made up her mind, there was no changing it. He prayed this time would be different.

* * *

><p>Brennan alternated between pacing and sitting and fidgeting while waiting for Booth to be released. The federal prosecutor had given into her demands when faced with the evidence of his own crimes. She knew Booth would be unhappy, or more likely, furious with her for going through with it, not that she cared. The charges against him had been dropped and she would be taking him home as soon as his release paperwork was processed.<p>

After a short time that seemed like an eternity, Booth was walking toward her. Letting out a slow breath she walked toward him, ready to wrap herself around him and never let go. He let her, but she could feel the hesitance in his touch. She broke away from him, stepping back to really look him and caught the haunted look in his eyes. She knew that they still had a long way to go. They needed to crack the blackmail network and bring it down. She was confident they would. Looking at Booth, she realized there was more to bringing him home than having him physically in their house. He was so obviously hurting in ways she didn't understand, yet she knew that they would deal and get past it in their own way, in their own time. What mattered most was that they were together.

Wrapping her arm around his waist, she looked up at him, kissed him gently on the cheek. "Come on, Booth, let's go home."

* * *

><p><em>AN - Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed this little look into Brennan's mindset while Booth was 'away.' As always, reviews feed the muse, if you're so inclined. :) Thanks again! ~ craftyjhawk_


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